Paloma
by Ria Lucas AKA Xayian
Summary: Dean falls victim to a past he knows nothing about caused by a man he thought he'd never meet and John pays the ultimate price. Dean's 15. A little torture but nothing graphic.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Paloma

**Category:** Crossover SPN/NCIS Family

**Summary:** Dean falls victim to a past he knows nothing about caused by a man he thought he'd never meet and John pays the ultimate price.

**AN:** So I learned something in the process of writing fanfic: don't post with the hopes that reviews and posting pressure will force you to finish a story. Just doesn't happen. So five yrs and ten starts later I give you my first SPN/NCIS crossover. It is complete but I'll be posting every couple days so I can double and tripple check for any errors. I hope you like it. :)

This story is completely AU for SPN and takes place during the begining of S4 for NCIS between Shalom and Escaped

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing, I am not compensated financially for anything, these, though I wish otherwise and the occasional original character, do not belong to me.

Dean sat at the table on the screened in porch cleaning the guns. He and John had been in Mexico a week and he hadn't had much to do while John met with his contact Angelo. They were between hunts and taking up an occasional gun supply job was nothing new but it was the first time Dean had been able to sit still and just…breathe. He was fourteen going on fifteen and the last time he'd been in school was a couple years ago. John found it got in the way of bounty hunting and just decided to go the whole home school route. He would get the prerequisite curriculum mailed to a PO in Lawrence; have a contact there fax it to wherever they happen to be at the time then left the rest up to Dean to figure out. It was hard work trying to figure some of the stuff out on his own but he got by.

He suppose he could have stayed with the Campbells when they took custody of Sam a few years earlier but it would have left John on his own and he just couldn't do that. Sometimes Dean thought that he was the only thing that kept John from taking unnecessary risks to his life, well more than what he tended to, because without Sam to worry about he had become more driven. Driven to hunt down the bastard that killed his wife and everybody else like the killer.

It was kind of ironic that they sometimes fell into business with the Reynosa cartel seeing as it was a low life dealing scum that had killed Mary but John justified it by stating "We can't take down the cartel but we can go after the low life scum that even they don't want to have anything to do with. Even the cartels have some sense of code as jacked up as it sometimes is. Besides, we keep dealings to a minimum and we don't deal with the drugs."

It was an equitable agreement he had with his cartel associates. John supplied specialty weapons that he developed himself on an as needed basis and the Cartel left him out of the drug aspect. If the occasional dealer crossed John and ended up dead what did it matter? As long as they weren't Reynosa.

Now John didn't kill on a whim. It just wasn't how he was made even after the first bought of anger over Mary's murder. He always gave the scum a chance. It was risky but John played the dangerous game and called it justified.

Dean finished assembling the gun he was working on and was picking up the next when Marissa came around the corner of the house. He watched her approach, putting the gun back down as she walked up the three steps to the porch and stepped through the screen door letting it fall close behind her.

"Hola, Dean."

"Hola, Marissa."

"What you been up to, gringo? Other than da obvious?" she asked, taking the seat next to him.

"Nothin'" he replied. He took Marissa in. She was a couple years older than him and full figured and Dean suspected that if he played his cards right, he'd have a shot at her. He knew she had at least a passing interest in him and his last growth spurt coupled with the work out regimen John had him on, helped a lot to add to his appeal. The deepening of his voice didn't hurt either.

He'd meet Marissa the first day there and she was the first girl he'd met in the past three years that was even remotely close to his age and he wasn't about to let the opportunity pass him by.

"So, Marissa," Dean leaned back in his chair and grinned at the Latina. "Ya know my birthday's in a couple days. I'm gonna need someone to show me the town."

Marissa tilted her head in consideration, looked at Dean and smiled. "What? Tu papi don't have plans for you?"

"My 'papi'," Dean huffs, "doesn't even know I exist." Dean stares off into space, scratching the back of his head, his mind seeming miles away. Marissa watches him and wonders where Dean's mind has wandered. She has always been good at reading people, a person has to be when living among the Cartel, so even though they've known each other a short time she has a feeling that they're not talking about the same person.

Dean shakes off the melancholy that threatens to creep in, throws on a grin like a new skin and leans forward in his chair. "The old man probably doesn't even remember when his _own_ birthday is. He's kind of single-minded that way."

"Uh huh," she replies, crossing arms and legs, her own grin of suspicion in place.

"What?" Marissa just keeps staring at him. "Look, you wanna do something with me or not?"

"Sure. Okay, gringo, but only if you tell me da truth." Marissa sits up and leans toward Dean, drawing his eyes down to her lips and back up again. His own eyes questioning the reason with a quirk of the brow. "Too many lies aqui, gringo. Sometimes un poco de verdad is nice, no?"

"I guess a little truth is worth a night out with a hermosa niña."

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Pedro stood by as the boy was dragged by the arms toward the waiting truck. He watched them haul the his unconscious body onto the truck bed with no regard for his wellbeing before lifting the tailgate and slamming it into place.

"You're not going to be able to do business with the Yanqui after this. You'll have to kill him," he continued calmly, rubbing his chin. "Your husband will not be happy, hermana."

"He'll understand," came the reply.

"Alright then." Pedro gestures to one of the men and waits for him to jog over to where he and his sister are standing. "Call Angelo. Tell him to take care of Winchester. Comprende?"

"Si."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN:** Okay, so this was an unexpected but needed addition to the story. In the process of my story flow check I thought that maybe I should actually establish John's role. Hope you like it and sorry if it makes all the John lovers mad but I just didn't see anyway around it that would have been effective in the long run. Hopefully there aren't any grievous errors this is, afterall, unbeted. ;P Drop a line and tell me what you think.

John Winchester can admit to himself that dealings with the cartel had the potential to be deadly. Could easily admit that if he were a stronger man, he would never expose his boys to the business. One out of two wasn't bad. Regardless, the money was good but the contacts were better. It was this association that had led to him finding his wife's killer.

He really should have gotten out of the business once he'd fond the guy but he figured he and Dean were doing okay. He liked what he did and his son was safe with his mother's family and despite giving Dean a way out, his sister's son had stuck with him and he was glad for it. He would never admit that the reason he had never told Dean that he's found his wife's killer was because he didn't want the boy to leave him. He knew it was warped reasoning and that it was incredibly selfish even though Dean had proved that he would stick by him, but he just didn't want to chance it. Dean was all John had left and there was no one who loved him like that boy did.

John sighed. He really should get out of this business before Dean lost his entire childhood. The fact that he had made some last-minute plans to meet Angelo instead of doing something on his fifteenth birthday was a real testament to how screwed up his priorities were. The sad thing was Dean probably thought he'd forgotten.

He'd make it up to him though. Get him something good with the money he made off this deal. It was with those thoughts that he opened the door to Angelo and invited him and his associate in.

He should have suspected something was up when Angelo set the last-minute meet but though it wasn't typical of him it wasn't unheard of, but the arrival of his cartel contact with an unknown had him taking a position of caution he typically reserved for when he had a bounty.

"Angelo," he nodded in greeting. "Who's your friend?"

"Don't worry about him, gringo," Angelo smirked. "Worry about mi amigo that has you in his sight."

John looked down to see a laser sight on his chest. He moved just fast enough to avoid a fatal hit. The impact to his shoulder spun him with enough force he spun as he hit the ground but not enough to where he wasn't able to draw his gun when he did. John fired his gun, not knowing if he hit anyone or not he took off towards the back. He made a dive around the corner just in time to avoid the return fire only to run into a fourth assailant coming in the back door.

The fourth man got two shots to John's chest before receiving a heart shot and going down. Adrenaline running through his veins, John was able to force some of the pain from his wounds down and scuttle further to the side and grabbed a gun from the hall drawer. Both guns in hand he pushed up against the wall until he was standing and moved towards the back room where the rest of his guns were kept.

He ignored the blood that slid down his chin and pushed through the door rounding it to take some cover. John chanced a glance down at his chest and watched the rapid flow of blood pouring from one of the holes in his chest. The asshole nicked an artery. There was a lot a body could survive but without immediate help, that wasn't one of them.

John slid down the wall coughing, blood flying from his lips. "No _fucking way_ am I leaving that boy alone."

John winced as gun fire came through the door striking the wall. The man who had stood with Angelo walked through the door, gun extended. John raised his arm and took him out, firing a few more shots for good measure. He knew Angelo wasn't far behind him and grew increasingly angry at the whole damn situation as he found it difficult to maintain his aim on the door.

After a couple of minutes John dropped his arms unable to hold them up any longer, his guns falling from his hands to the floor with a clatter. His head drooped and he watched through blurring eyes as his blood flowed away and began to pool at the low slope in the floor in front of the door.

He knew he was in trouble when he realized that he wasn't hurting anymore and breathing felt like drowning.

John coughed up more blood and forced his hand to grip the gun once more. He tried to raise his gun as the approaching thud of footsteps on the wooden floor. He managed an inch by the time Angelo eased through the door with his gun held high. Once he saw John though, he dropped it and stood tall, strolling forward to kneel at John's side. The cartel member took John's guns from his hands and tossed them aside.

"What the hell…Angelo?" John gasped.

"Sorry about this, Winchester," he said though it would have been clear even to a child that he wasn't. "It's just that La Senora needs your boy and you would just be in the way."

John grabbed Angelo by his shirt with a burst of energy that surprised the criminal. He took hold of John's wrists and pulled his hands from him to John's frustration. "It's nothing personal, gringo. At least towards you. I'm going to miss doing business with you. You produced some good guns."

John followed Angelo with his eyes as the other man stood and moved over to his man lying on the floor. He listened to him mumble about having to tell his family that the guy had died and could only think how fucked up the situation was. The fact that he had thought about family himself and how selfish he'd been to keep Dean in this life and that though he entered it to avenge the death of his wife he was now leaving it knowing that this life may be the cause of the death of his son.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Thanks for the follows and favs, my friends. Very much appreciated.**

Chapter 3

A single bulb hung from a cord that dangled over the still form tied to a wooden chair. It's dim light barely breaking the darkness of the room.

Dean woke with a groan. His head was pounding and his body ached. His first thought was that the old man was going to kill him. His second thought was to wonder what the hell he did to get knocked out and tied to a chair.

The teen rolled his head up from where his chin rested on his chest. Still sluggish from whatever drug had run through his system, and he was sure it had been a drug, he tried to shake the residual effects and take in his surroundings. The room was small, ten by ten if he were to guess with the only other item in the room a metal pail in a corner behind him to the right, the rank smell of which made it clear what it was used for. To his left was a boarded window and directly in front of him a plywood door.

Dean listened, trying to hear beyond the room. He could hear voices coming from somewhere else in the building far enough that he was fairly sure they wouldn't hear the creak of the wood as he tried to get free of the bonds. He didn't know why he was here and he didn't plan to stay long enough to find out.

He eased his bottom forward on the seat, cringing to a halt as the chair creaked. Pausing long enough to see if he'd been heard, Dean continued to shift his hips. He was still wearing his belt so he was hoping that his small knife was still secure inside the lining of the leather. His fingers were on his belt when he heard the sound of approaching steps on the hardwood floor.

The door opened just after Dean shifted back into an upright sitting position. He made no secret of testing the strength of the rope as a woman he recognized as Paloma Reynosa stepped up to him and a man he recognized from John's dealings followed with a video camera in hand. He'd never had any direct dealings with her and neither had John so it was a mystery to him as to why he was here. Angelo was here so he wondered; had one of the old man's deals gone wrong? Regardless, Dean felt his heart rate rocket. The last thing any sane person would ever want is to come to the notice of the matriarch of the Reynosa Cartel, let alone be in the position that he was in now.

"You look like him you know," she said, looking down at the boy before her. "Your eyes. Your nose. Do you know what your father did?" she asked leaning forward to look into Dean's eyes. "Of course you don't. It happened before you were born."

The look of confusion was plain upon Dean's face as she circled the chair. The old man hadn't even been in the business then. Maybe Paloma had gotten John confused with someone else and Dean felt if he'd just explain that, she'd let him go. He'd have to keep it from John, at least until after he'd convinced him to get out of town because John could be a vindictive son of a bitch.

"Look, Señora," he followed her with his eyes, "the old man wasn't even in the business before I was born. I think, maybe you got him confused with someone else."

Paloma dragged her fingers across his shoulders as she came from behind to face him again a contemplative look upon her own face. "It is not John Winchester I speak of and I think you know that."

Dean's startled response to that was clear but he recovered quickly. "But…He doesn't even know I exist," he whispered, the fear he'd been trying to ignore since he realized what had happened starting to force its way to the surface.

"But he will," she stated, a slight look of satisfaction taking over her face. "And when I am done," she placed her boot in the space between his knees and pulled out a knife, "he'll come running."

"My old man's gonna come for me," Dean glared up at her. "And when he does he's gonna rip you a new one."

Dean tried not to stare at the blade, but his eyes widen slightly with a trepidation he was trying very hard to conceal. From the sound of it, this apparent vendetta was personal and he wouldn't die because of it, at least not right away, he most definitely would suffer though.

"He won't be coming to your rescue," she smirked. "Your…'old man' is dead."

"That's a bunch of bullshit." Dean stared up at her. John was a calculating bastard. Marine training aside, he would know if someone were gunning for him.

"You know Angelo?" she asked gesturing to the man checking the camera he'd placed on an expandable tripod. He stood just on the outside of the ring of light from the hanging bulb so Dean had to look hard to focus on his face but once he did… Dean's breath caught in his throat as the man looked up from what he was doing to smirk at the teenager. "He had a meeting with your adopted papí and as you can see, he is very much alive. So I think it is clear, your uncle will not be coming. But your father will. It's in his nature."

"What did he do?" Dean asked, a slight tremor in his voice at the news. He couldn't fathom what could have happened between this woman and his biological father that would cause her to still seek vengeance more than fifteen years later.

"He killed my father." Paloma pushed Dean's button up shirt aside and cut open the front of his t-shirt below it; she signaled Angelo to record before she pressed the tip of her blade into the teen's chest. Dean clenched his jaw, barely containing the grunt of pain that worked its way up his throat as she worked the blade into his flesh. He tried to pull back from the knife, scraping his feet against the floor in order to tip his chair and kicking out at the older woman to get her to stop. He knew it would be fruitless seeing as he was still strapped to the chair and she'd get to him anyway but he didn't have to make it easy.

Paloma grabbed his shoulder to hold him still as she continued to twist her knife across his skin. "If you keep moving it will only hurt more."

"How about you stop….so I won't have to worry about it at all," Dean grunted. His eyebrows were drawn together, furrowed in pain as he continued to try and get away from the knife.

"Angelo," Paloma indicated Dean with her chin. Angelo stepped behind Dean and gripped his shoulders tight then Paloma sat astride his knees to keep him from kicking her. She shifted her grip then started up again.

Dean couldn't hold in the moan of pain and tears started rolling down his face as he continued to kick out. He didn't want to beg. Had always considered it a sign of weakness. At the moment though, he'd give just about anything to get her to "_Stop!_"

Paloma simply smiled and continued cutting into the boy's chest, blood streaming down to his waist, maintaining her hold despite Dean's bucking.

When she was finally done, she stood and brushed the knife across the remnants of Dean's t-shirt before ripping the piece of material off and handing it to Angelo. She admired her work prior to looking up into the eyes of the pain filled, tear streaked face of the fifteen year old boy before her. She then gripped his chin and squeezed it until she had his full attention. "You held up better than I thought you would, niño."

Paloma released his chin with a shove and turned toward the camera. "Look close, cabrón," Paloma moved to the side so that Angelo could zoom in on a young face covered in sweat and tears and filled with lingering pain. "Does he not look just like you?"

The camera was shifted back to Paloma, her own expression filled with a deadly seriousness that no one could mistake for anything else. "I've marked the boy as mine. Carved my name into him. Right now that will be all I do unless you don't come and get him. Come get your son. His name is Dean Winchester and today is his fifteenth birthday. Look it up if you don't believe me. Check his DNA, but I have a feeling you'll come regardless. You have until Monday, 5pm, to get here or I start cutting your boy to pieces starting with his hands. Do not be late."

Angelo stopped the camera and took the scrap of material from his boss. "Label the tape with today's date and see that it gets to him. Our contact in Bell's organization knows where."

"Sí, Señora."

Angelo walked out of the room, taking the camera and stand with him. Paloma turned to Dean and the glare he was shooting at her. He was still in obvious pain but his breathing had calmed, probably more to minimize the sting in his chest than an act of bravery on his part. She pulled out a flask as she approached him and took a drink. Dean wasn't prepared for the quick splash of alcohol and was unable to suppress a cry of pain.

"Sonuvabitch! You better hope I don't get my hands on you," Dean growled, more angry now, than afraid.

Paloma let out a surprised laugh. "I'm sure if you were older I would probably consider that a notable threat, niño," she replied stroking his cheek. Dean quickly jerked his face away but maintained his glare.

"It doesn't matter if he comes; you're going to kill me anyway aren't you?"

"Sí, but don't worry, I won't do it until he gets here. I want to look into his eyes when I kill you. Your papi values family and losing another child will cause him no small amount of pain. For now though, make yourself at home, niño." With that Paloma struck Dean hard with the hilt of her knife. She cut his bonds, grabbed him by remains of his shirt and pulled him onto the floor.

When Dean managed to open his eyes, Paloma was gone and so was the chair. "Didn't want the damn chair anyway," he mumbled. Dean lay where he had landed, figuring that it was as good a spot as any considering, and adjusted his position so that his head rested on his right arm and the material of his shirt wasn't touching the left side of his chest.

He tried not to think about his fate, pushing what Paloma said aside. He couldn't do anything about that now. He had to figure out how to get out and couldn't count on a man he didn't know. And if John really was dead then he was on his own. So Dean considered his options, all the while wishing he had kept his mouth shut and not opened up to Marissa by telling her his real father was one Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

**R&R would Awesome :)**


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

Dean tried to stay conscious once they left but he was fairly sure he lost himself to oblivion a few times before he was able to come to some semblance of thinking straight. He'd lost a lot of blood as the sticky puddle pooling beneath him could attest, add the nausea, dizziness and ringing in his ears to the predilection for sleeping and he could say with certainty that he had a slight concussion to. Damn, but that woman could hit.

Though he wasn't a crier, he couldn't stop the tears from running down his face. He was glad John never fought to keep Sam from Mary's parents. He didn't know what he'd do if Sammy had been with them. Just for a second, in this moment, he wished that he had chosen to stay with the Campbells. He was just a kid himself. No kid should have to live the life he's lived. But then the moment passed and he had no regrets. John had needed him and had been the only father he'd known since taking custody of him after his mother, John's sister Nadine, had died in a car accident when Dean was just three years old.

Before Mary had been killed a year later, John had contemplated doing what Nadine never had the nerve to do and contact Dean's biological father but Dean was all he had left of his sister so he put it off. Things changed with Mary's murder. The importance of family, and knowing just how anything could happen to them, struck home. Who was he to deny Dean a chance at knowing his father? So after Mary's funeral he finally sat down with his little nephew and told him the truth. Dean took one look at the grieving man he'd always known as his only father and without saying a word hugged him and didn't let go. So John held on a bit longer figuring he needed Dean there more right then than some man the boy had never known.

It wasn't till the day he'd lost custody of Sam that John brought it up again. He handed over a small envelope with all the info he'd had on the location of Gibbs and an acknowledgement that Dean could go look for him if he wanted.

Dean didn't know this man. Knew nothing about him except that he had been a Marine who'd spent a couple months with his mother. He'd never been there to care for him when he was sick or taught him how to shoot. He hadn't raised Dean in anyway. The man didn't even know Dean existed. That being said, as far as Dean was concerned John Winchester was his father and he had needed Dean now more than ever. So Dean took one long look at the envelope, packed it into his bag and asked John if he had another job lined up.

And now, as far as he knew, the only father he had ever known was dead, the last time he'd talked to any of the Campbells was three years prior so they'd have no clue he was in trouble, and he was relying on a man he knew nothing about to come and free him. Yeah. Dean wasn't about to hold his breath waiting on that to happen. No, as far as he was concerned he was on his own and the sooner he dealt with that the better. He just had to rest his eyes a moment that's all.

"Just rest my eyes…" he mumbled before passing out.

* * *

Dean woke at what he guessed was a few minutes later based on the degree of coagulation of the blood his hand rested in. He slowly pushed himself into an upright position, looked down at his chest and slowly pealed back the sticky material of his ragged shirt. There was too much blood for him to tell exactly what exactly it was that she had carved into him but he had a pretty good idea it was her name. He took very small comfort in the fact that the blood flow had gone down to barely a trickle. At least it had started to clot, he thought.

Dean dropped the bit of material he held at the sound of the door being unlocked. One of Paloma's armed men stepped in followed by the last person he wanted to see.

"Marissa," Dean huffed out a humorless laugh. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Sorry about dis, gringo," she said carrying over bandages and a bottle of water. Dean shifted and the guard took a step forward so he stilled further movement. He had no desire to become a target at the moment so he tried to make himself as nonthreatening as possible. Considering his current condition, it wouldn't be hard.

"What are you doing here, Marissa?" Dean asked, brow furrowed in obvious suspicion. Last he'd seen the young Mexican girl she'd taken the drink she'd given him from his hand before he'd tumbled from his chair at the cantina.

"I think it's clear what I'm doing, gringo," she replied crouching down beside him. Marissa placed the items before her and cracked open the bottle. She poured a bit of water on Dean's wound and moved to wipe it clean but Dean grabbed her wrist before she could touch him. Ignoring the advance of the guard, he took the gauze from her fingers before letting her go and proceeded to take care of the cuts himself. He wanted no help from Marissa seeing as she had a hand in putting him here.

Marissa sighed and pushed the bottle and bandages towards Dean before standing back up. "_Lo siento_, Dean, but _everyone_ here knows who your papa is and what he did. I should never have told but if I were to say not'ing and la Señora found out… it would be di same as killing _mi_ familia myself."

She sighed when it was clear that her former friend was going to ignore her and turned to go.

Dean looked up from what he was doing long enough to watch them leave. Given what he knew, he could understand her reasoning but it still pissed him off. They had been alone when he told Marissa and he firmly believed that if she'd just kept her mouth shut no one would have ever been the wiser, but of course if he'd just kept his _own_ mouth shut Marissa would have never told anyone and John would be….

So really, Dean thought, he really had no one to blame but himself. All because he wanted to do the typical teen thing and go out with a girl on his birthday. He should have known better.

Dean finished cleaning the blood from around the cuts and picked up a clean folded up square of gauze and carefully fixed it to his chest with the bandage tape Marissa had left behind. Pushing his shirt aside, he glanced down and was happy to note that the keeper on his belt was still in place holding the tail end of the belt down. They hadn't found the knife.

Swinging his legs around, Dean lay on the floor and looked through the inch high gap beneath the door. The hall was as dimly lit as the room he was kept in but brighter at the end where he was barely able to see three men sitting at a table playing cards and drinking beer.

Music played in the background loud enough, along with the men's chatter, to hopefully cover up what he was about to do. Dean stood up and unsteadily walked toward the window fighting the slight dizziness the change of elevation had created though overall he was steadier and more alert. He peeked out the window between the slats of wood and couldn't see anything but what was directly in front of him. He saw some foliage and some trees about eight feet out. It was wide open from the window to the trees and with the moon as bright as it was with no cloud cover he'd be an easy target if someone were looking. The foliage was high enough, though, that if he kept low he was pretty sure he'd be able to make it to the tree line.

Examining the spots where the boards were nailed to the window frame, Dean let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding when he noticed that the wood was starting to rot. A couple good tugs and he should be able to remove the boards with minimal noise.

Pulling the tail end of his belt from the belt loop of his pants and the keeper, Dean applied some pressure to the sides of the belt and slid the keeper itself to the side revealing a narrow three inch steel blade from the lining. The keeper was big enough that he could slide two of his fingers into it like brass knuckles with the blade resting against his fingers. He used the small weapon to get under the bottom board and carefully leverage each end up. A sudden burst of laughter gave him pause and he rushed back to the door to listen for approaching steps. The quick movement made him want to throw up but he fought back the nausea and checked to see if someone were coming.

Hearing nothing, Dean returned to the window more carefully than when he left it. He had to take another moment to let the some dizziness pass and let his eyes focus back on task before working on the boards again. It took him ten careful minutes to get two of the boards off leaving him with enough room to push up the window and look out. Scoping out the area, he noted some traffic to the left on the other side of chain link fence and nothing but more green to his right. Grabbing a hold of the top of the frame, Dean pulled himself up and slid his feet out the window. He didn't know when they would check on him so he had to get as far away as he could and as fast as he could. He just had to figure out where he would go and how he was going to get there. He _needed_ to get out of town and find a place to go to ground, but not before he made sure that what he was told was true.

Dean stayed low as he crept through the foliage, moving quickly through the trees once he reached them. The sudden rush of adrenaline he felt helped push back some of the effects of his concussion and he was able to make it a decent distance before he noticed armed men on the street to his left rushing about with flashlights. Guess they came to check on him sooner than he thought.

Dean veered to his right traveling another twenty yards until he came to another street. There were several cars parked along side a cantina across the street. The same cantina he'd been at with Marissa. Looking both ways, Dean made sure the street was clear before quickly crossing to the car directly in front of him. Its door were locked as were the next three he checked. He lucked out on a rusted grey truck and climbed in.

He popped the cover below the steering column and yanked the wires and, using the bright light from the moon to see by, he used the blade he held to strip the wires and hotwired the old Ford. Grabbing a baseball cap he found on the seat beside him, he put it on and pulled out onto the road. He knew it wasn't wise, but he found himself headed to the house where he and John had been staying. Paloma had said his adoptive father was dead, but John was one stubborn ornery son of a bitch. He'd believe it when he sees it.

It took Dean five minutes to make it to the house; he parked it out front and quickly made his way up to the porch and inside. The lights were out in the house and he kept them that way till he reached the back room holding the small knife in front of him just in case. With the lights out, he wanted to assume that no one was in the house and made his way to where John stored the guns.

When he got to the back room he turned on the light only to find a broken lock and the lid of the chest it secured thrown open. He didn't want to acknowledge what such a violation meant and as he took a step into the room he found he didn't have a choice when he finally noticed a change in the sound of the floor beneath him and the heavy scent of copper. He looked down to find that he'd stepped in a dark, coagulated puddle that had pooled in front of the door and followed the pool to where it originated, seeing what he'd hoped he wouldn't see.

Dean walked over to where John laid still, eyes open and unseeing. Kneeling down, the teen dropped his knife as he reached out with shaking hands and gripped John's shirt trying and failing to hold the tears back and a strangle whisper of grief as he called out to him. "_Pop…_"

Dean shook John's body then leaned forward, eyes squeezed shut, touching his forehead to the cool skin of his father's. He sat back on his heels, looked at the man he'd always considered his father one last time and closed John's eyes. So caught up in his grief, Dean almost didn't notice the approach. Quickly, he dropped his hand and grabbed the knife swinging it up at one of Paloma's men slashing him across the stomach. He then made a break for the window, crashing through the glass and landing with a whoosh of breath before rolling to his feet and making a break for it.

He heard men shouting behind him as he ran through people's yards, hopping fences as he went. He'd made it to the third house down from his when something hit him from the side. Dean slashed to the right but his wrist was caught before his knife met its target. He kicked out and punched with his free arm repeatedly but the man atop him was big and took the punches like they were nothing, returning a couple punches of his own that knocked enough of the fight out of Dean that the next thing he knew he was face down with both arms pulled high behind his back.

"Puto niño!"

Dean was dragged to his feet. His vision going in and out as he came face to face with the first man he'd cut back at the house. He spat blood filled saliva at him and was rewarded with another punched to the head. The first man gripped him by the chin and stared him in the eye, breath reeking of beer huffed into his face causing Dean's stomach to roll.

"Better be glad we need you alive, idiota. Otherwise I would take your little knife and gut jou like a little pig." Turning to one of the other men that joined them he ordered "Burn the house!" He then released Dean's chin and struck him hard, knocking Dean out.

_Lo siento_ = I'm sorry

_mi familia_ = my family

_Puto niño_ = fuckin' kid


	5. Chapter 5

**Incase I didn't already say, this takes place immediately after the NCIS ep Shalom. I own nothing.**

**AN: I would like to blame the fact that I had to pack up a truck load of stuff in anticipation of a move, took in the consideration of a few reviews made, and the USA Network's NCIS In the Name of Love on the fact that this next chapter is so late in coming. This fic ****_was_**** finished but the last two reasons for the lateness screamed rewrite for this chapter and possibly the addition of another one in the story. **

**I hope it was worth the wait and please be gentle it is, as the rest, unbeted. Let me know if you catch any booboos and thanks for your patience. **

**And thanks to all who have reviewed, fav'ed and followed! You are appreciated!**

Gibbs headed down to his basement, the previous day's events rolling through his mind. Ziva had managed to clear her name and catch the Iranian agent but it had been a hard road traveled. Walking over to his work bench, Gibbs grabs a mug and fills it from the cold pot of coffee sitting next to it. There were things he had put off that needed to be taken care of, namely what to do about his house.

He was contemplating his options when he turned to lean against the bench and noticed the package set at the bottom of the framework of the boat he had started on a couple months ago. Gibbs set his mug down and walks over to the package. He notes the wrapping is newspaper with Spanish print. It's something that he clearly remembers not being there the previous day and the lack of dust that would have accumulated from his long absence is conspicuously absent.

Gibbs carefully removes the paper and opens the box inside to find a baggie with a scrap of stiff material inside and a note taped atop a portable DVD player with a name, a Mexico City address and a date written on it.

"Paloma Reynosa?"

Opening the player, he pushed play...

Gibbs walked back to the work bench and placed shaky hands on top, head bowed. The disbelief and anger he's feeling is contained only long enough for him to pick up the coffee mug and hurl it against the wall.

A son.

It was possible that Pedro Hernandez's daughter was lying about the boy, but he doubted it for a couple of reasons. First, he remembered spending some time with a woman named Winchester.

Nadine.

At the time, it had been a couple months since he'd come back from Mexico and he had still been in a bad place. Nadine had helped him begin to heal. Second, the obvious way to prove the kid's…._Dean's_ parentage.

Gibbs released a stanch puff of air.

Thirty-four hours. He had thirty-four hours to get to Mexico City before Hernandez's daughter decided to touch the boy again. He didn't plan on waiting that long.

* * *

Bags already in the car, Gibbs sped towards the airport. He needed to get to Mexico City with enough time to set up what he needed to get Dean out alive and there was one way to expedite things. Pulling out his cell he made a call.

"McGee."

"Hey, Boss. You on your way in?" came Timothy McGee's light-hearted reply.

"I'm on my way to the airport and I need you to change my flight to the first one out to Mexico City. Also find out everything you can on a Dean Winchester born January 24 to Nadine Winchester and call me back."

"Sure thing, Boss. What's this ab-" Gibbs hung up before McGee could finish. He tucked his cell away and replaced his hand in a tight grip around the wheel. He thought about Dean and wondered what life the boy could have lived to bring him to the attention of the Reynosa Cartel. Nadine had always been a straight shooter. Independent in spirit and practice with a strong sense of right and wrong, she would never have traveled in the same circles as the Cartel would. And yet they had Dean, which makes him wonder what had happen to Nadine.

Yet, as much as he wondered about Nadine, the persistent image of a fifteen year old boy, _his_ fifteen year old boy being cut into kept repeatedly playing over and over in his mind. The images drove him in a way he hadn't been driven in a very long time and it took no little effort to keep his mind on track so that he could plan a way to get Dean out alive.

Gibbs arrived at the airport in record time receiving a text with flight information from McGee as he got out of the car. Once inside, he headed towards the security check point and moved toward one of the security guards, glad that he had kept his NCIS badge so that he could use it to jump to the front of the line, then tossed his carryon bag onto the x ray conveyor belt and dropped his wallet and cell into one of the little bowls before walking through the metal detector and picking it up on the other side. He reached in and grabbed his bag before it was all the way out giving the security officer a look that challenged him to say something before continuing on to his gate to check in.

Gibbs still had some time before his flight left and couldn't sit down idly waiting so he flipped open his phone and called a number south of the border as he stared out at the tarmac.

"Cantina de Carlo."

"Camila, it's Gibbs. Have Mike call me as soon as you can. It's important."

"Sí, Señor Gibbs. Are you okay?" Camila asked. She wasn't used to the abruptness of his greeting. Gibbs typically would at least ask how she was.

"Just have him call me as soon as possible," Gibbs requested. "Please."

"Okay, Señor," Camila replied, recognizing the fact that it wasn't her place to question him further. "I will."

Gibbs ended the call and continued to stare out the window, not really seeing any of the activity on the tarmac before him. The only thing he saw was Hernandaz's daughter carving her initials into his son's chest, marking him with her name. He only heard the cry's of a fifteen year old boy as he fought to get away from the pain. Every last image and sound ran through his mind in an endless loop.

Gibbs took out his cell again, the inability to momentarily do nothing giving rise to the worry he'd been controlling and pushing him to seek ways to do something.

McGee picked up after the first ring.

"McGee, what do ya got?"

"Well, Boss, a cursory look reveals Dean Winchester, born to Nadine Winchester in 1981, was taken in and adopted by his uncle, a John Winchester when his mother was killed in a car accident in '85.

"About a year after the death of his wife, Mary, John takes up bounty hunting and starts moving around, taking his son, Sam, and Dean with him. Bouncing them around to different schools. Winchester started going after more dangerous fugitives and lost custody of Sam to his in-laws. At one point he was even investigated by Child Protective Services for taking Dean on jobs with him but nothing was ever proven. After that, and possibly to keep CPS off his back, he started homeschooling Dean with all correspondence getting sent to a PO Box in Lawrence, Kansas. Other than that PO, they've pretty much fallen off the grid except for when he turns in a fugitive."

"So, no address for the Winchesters at all?"

"Other than, his wife's family, the PO Box and the progress reports submitted for Dean's home school requirements, there's nothing, Boss."

Gibbs took a deep breath, looked down then closed his eyes before asking, "Who's the birth father of record, McGee?"

"None on record, Boss. That part of the birth certificate was marked 'Unknown.'" Even though he hid it well, McGee knew Gibbs well enough to know that something was seriously troubling him. "Boss, what's going on? Are you alright?"

"Thanks, McGee." Gibbs closed the connection and bent his head, fingering the cell in thought. He had a lot to plan and not a lot of time to plan it. His cell phone rang and he glanced at the caller ID.

* * *

When Camila came to Mike Franks with the cell phone he could sense something was up right off the bat. It wasn't just that the message from Gibbs stated the importance of the call to be made but that the call came at all. When Gibbs left, he left to help Ziva David get out of a serious jam. It was nothing that Gibbs would have needed his help with and anything that he would typically talk to him about could have waited. So he took the cell from Camila and dialed.

The phone rang once - "Mike? I need you to do something for me."

"What's going on, Probie?"

"Found out I got another kid. A fifteen year old son."

"Something tells me that even though a 'congratulations' would be nice, that isn't what you were looking to hear right now."

Gibbs rubbed his forehead, the emotion of the situation threatening to overwhelm him as he grips the cell tightly against his ear. Looking around, he spots the entrance to the men's room and heads towards it. The bathroom is empty and he paces for a moment, grateful that Mike is able to tell that he needs a moment to compose himself to continue.

"Paloma Reynosa's got him."

"Of the Reynosa Cartel?" Mike asks, throwing down the towel he held and placing his hand upon his hip. "Damn, Jethro. Tell me what you need."

**AN: The reason for the rewrite had to do with comments about team reaction. This was originally going to only involve Ziva but will now spout an appearance from the rest of the team.**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: As with all things I write, this hasn't beta'ed. So I hope you enjoy and let me know if you catch anything wrong.**

"What's the deadline?" Franks asks.

"Tomorrow. Five pm."

"That doesn't give us much time." Jethro sighed and pushed his hand through his hair.

"She did a number on him, Mike. Cut him deep. He'll probably have some scars."

Gibbs dropped his left hand down from his ear, clutching the cell tightly. He slammed his fist into a stall door and watched as it banged against the wall and bounced back. He didn't know this kid, wasn't 100% sure if Reynosa was telling the truth about him being his son. The fact was, though, he'd dated Nadine Winchester once upon a time so it was well in the realm of possibility that the boy was his and because of that fact alone, he'd become a target for Reynosa.

Regardless of that fact, or perhaps because of it, son or not Gibbs had no intention of abandoning the kid.

Gibbs brought the cell back up to his ear, "You know she more than likely has no intention of letting either of us live once I make the meet?"

"I figured. So I'm guessin' you're gonna want to go in tonight. It's gonna take more than just the two of us. This is a three man job. And I don't trust my old contacts enough to help out. Reynosa's reach is too wide."

"I got it covered. Just get what we'll need and find out where she's really keeping him. Here's the address she gave me." Gibbs reads it off. "I land in seven hours."

"I'll be waiting."

Gibbs disconnects the call and starts dialing. Franks was right, he wouldn't be enough with the numbers they would be facing, he needed someone else he could trust and who knew how to blend. Someone he could count on to get Dean out. "Ziva. Grab your bag. I'm gonna need your help."

* * *

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo stepped into the squad room followed by NCIS Director Jenny Sheppard and Mossad Officer Ziva David. They'd just left the Director's office after watching the ZNN news and were coming down to see if Gibbs had arrived yet.

"Where is he, McGee? Abby's lab?" Jenny asked.

"Gibbs is already at the airport, Ma'am."

"What's that, McGibbTracker?" Tony asks, taking on a look of disbelief. "He couldn't have left without saying goodbye to me!"

"Yeah, Tony. I'm sure." McGee turns to his keyboard, and with a few strokes, pulls up some information on the plasma screen. "Something's going on, though, and Gibbs didn't say what, but he did have me look up information on a Dean Winchester."

"Dean Winchester?" Jenny asked. "Name sound familiar to you, Tony?"

"No, Ma'ma. Never heard of him."

"I'm fairly sure that he hasn't either," Tim continues. "He seemed a little…tense."

"Tense? Gibbs doesn't do 'tense,' Probie."

"Well, you didn't talk to him. Something must have happened between yesterday when he left and this morning. Something big."

"Get him on the phone," Jenny directs as she walks over to the plasma to read the information on Dean Winchester. The only photos available were a driver's license picture of his adopted father and CPS pictures of Dean and his cousin Sam from a few years earlier. Dean was young, just turned fifteen. She couldn't fathom what he had to do with Jethro but there _was_ something familiar about him. She just couldn't think what it could be because she knows for a fact that she's never met him.

"Ma'am?" Jenny turns towards McGee at his inquiry, eyebrow raised and expectant. "His cell just keeps going to voicemail. Do you want me to leave a message?"

"What time does his flight leave?"

"He had me move it up. The earliest I could get him leaves for Mexico City in about an hour."

"Okay, DiNozzo go to his house and see if you can find anything that may give us a clue as to what's going on. Ziva, go to the airport and see if you can catch up with Gibbs. Find out…"

Jenny stops when she turns and finds Ziva gone. "Where the hell did she go?"

* * *

**Mexico City**

Ziva followed Gibbs in a low crouch toward the house. It was well past midnight when they decided to move in and most of the guards were down for the night. They were fortunate tonight, that there was a front moving in. The cloud cover alleviated what would have ordinarily been a bright night providing more than enough cover for what they were about to do.

Two guards walked the border of the back yard. Gibbs took one guard out as Ziva quickly dispatched the other. They quickly moved across the open ground to the house each taking up position on either side of the back door. Guns at the ready, Gibbs nods to Ziva to open the door. Cautiously turning the knob, Ziva slowly pushes the door open, peeks in, then goes in low with her gun extended in a two handed grip as she scans the kitchen. The room is lit by light coming from a partially opened door opposite from where she is crouched and Ziva covers it as Gibbs passes her and moves towards it.

Taking up position at the edge of the frame, back to the wall, Gibbs eases his head over enough to peek around the corner. He spots a couple of armed men in the hall beyond sitting in front of a door playing cards on a TV tray. He signals the information to Ziva and she nods her understanding as she holsters her gun and pulls two of her throwing knives from her boot. Ziva then nods her readiness and Gibbs pushes open the door. Both men look up, grabbing their weapons as they do but before they can act, Ziva throws her knives with precision and they both fall back into their seats before toppling to the floor with a thud.

Leading on cat-like feet Ziva pulls her gun back out and heads to the end of the hall, trusting Gibbs to cover the formerly guarded door. Once the rooms at the end of the hall have been cleared, Ziva returns to stand on the other side of the door from Gibbs. She then puts her back to the wall and stands ready, eyes and an ear alert for any approach as Gibbs turns the handle to the door and eases it open.

The room's dark, the light from the hall barely breaking through the shadows. Gibbs doesn't take any chances and cautiously steps in to the room gun extended. He catches movement on his right before his arm is knocked to the side and a rope comes around his neck. He manages to get a hand up and under the rope before it tightens and yanks it forward. His attacker falls against his back but doesn't let go. Gibbs uses that fact to his advantage by keeping hold of the rope and bringing his gun arm up under his attacker and flipping him over his head and following through by coming down on his assailant, knee locking one arm down and a firm grip on the other.

He quickly brings his gun around on target then just as quickly draws it back. Gibbs didn't know how or what his meeting with Dean would be like but he's not surprised. The kid has no idea who he is and has been held captive and, by the looks of it, has suffered the stay more than what the video showed and more than what any kid any age should have to go through. The attack though, gave him some hope that though he was beaten Dean wasn't broken.

"Hey," Gibbs hisses as the kid struggles to get up. He tries to get through to him. "_Hey, we're here to help_." Gibbs puts his gun down out of Dean's reach but still easily within his own without letting Dean up. He doesn't want the kid to see him as a threat but he's realistic enough to know that Dean has no reason to trust him, but at least the shifting of his gun has got his attention.

"We're going to get you out of here okay, kid?" Gibbs waits until he gets a nod before easing up and letting Dean go. Dean quickly moves away, back against the wall by the door. He eyes Gibbs then the woman that stood guard on the other side of the door. She hadn't helped take him down but Dean supposed, given his position, she didn't need to.

"Gibbs," Ziva looks assessing at Dean then at him. "We need to go before someone comes."

The shock on Dean's face is clear but is quickly pushed down as he rolls to get up ignoring the hand Gibbs holds out to help him. Gibbs doesn't miss the gun from the fallen guard that Dean palms nor does he miss how unsteady Dean is as he stands, the signs of a concussion now apparent to him.

"Gun." The order to give up the weapon clear in his tone and the way he holds himself as Gibbs puts his hand out to receive it. Dean reacts to the order automatically more than the posture having gotten used to the same tone coming from John, but he stops himself from giving up the weapon. John's dead now and he doesn't know this man, or the woman, in any capacity that would warrant him trusting them with his life.

"I ain't givin' up shit," Dean replies heatedly.

"You clearly have a concussion," he reasoned stubbornly not about to let this go, "and I can't trust someone with a concussion, whose ability to shoot I know nothing about, to handle a weapon without shooting someone they shouldn't."

"Feeling's mutual," Dean replies just as stubborn.

"Gibbs," Ziva can see that mule-headed trait was something that was apparently genetic and she felt that if she didn't intervene, something she wouldn't have had to consider in any other circumstance, they could get caught. She's hoping that practicality is also genetic. "He put the safety on and we've got to go."

Gibbs steps closer to Dean, stopping when the kid flinches but holds his ground. "You stay on her six and you stay low. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Dean answered automatically. Though he tried to fight it, the John-like orders coming from someone else was easier for him to follow than to force his mind to think.

Gibbs, on the other hand, didn't like the way Dean straightened his back and the familiar way he responded to the order that was given even though in this instance it was working to his advantage. It spoke of an obedience that your average kid didn't typically have; unfortunately he didn't have time to evaluate that right now.

He took a second to meet Dean's eyes and quickly determined that Dean would follow the order before nodding to Ziva to move out.

They were half way across the back yard when they heard the call of alarm from inside. Ziva took off at a run, Dean following behind. He nearly fell as a dizzy spell hit him but Gibbs grabbed him by the back of his shirt startling a grunt from him. The former Marine pulled him up before taking him by his arm to keep him upright and moving.

Entering the trees at a dead run, Ziva veered right heading towards the road, stopping to make sure the way was clear. Behind them, she could hear the faint sound of gunfire that signaled the distraction Mike initiated once the cartel figured out Dean was gone.

"They'll know," Dean huffed, "to search this way."

Ziva took a second to glance at Dean before commenting, "How do you know that?"

"This is the way I came…the first time I broke out." Dean smirked, his bit of smugness not diminished by his labored breath.

A slight smile crept onto Gibbs face at the comment and no small amount of pride for the kid he didn't know. His gaze passed over the boy, bordering on young man, and stopped for a moment in scrutiny. He noticed how carefully Dean was trying to hold his left side without appearing to give it any support and remembered the grunt on their initial run. Gibbs' smile disappeared and before Ziva could move out he gripped Dean's arm and turned him. The shift in position pulled a wince from Dean and Gibbs frowned at him.

"You gonna be able to make it?"

"I'm good," came the reply, Dean doing a decent job of keeping everything off his face.

"Alright, then." Gibbs released his arm and stepped back, more to keep his aim clear than anything else. "Ziva." The directive clear, Ziva headed out.

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

**AN: Again, any errors are all mine. Tell me if you catch something off and you'll be my best friend. Tell me if there's something you like and I'll love you forever. **

It took the trio fifteen minutes to make it to the rendezvous point with Franks and his impatience at their tardiness showed in his expression but one glance at Gibbs, which led to a glance at the bruised teen, wiped the expression from his face.

The place they met Franks at was at a rundown cabaña located in a shadier area from the one they'd come from, if that were even possible, but it was one familiar to Dean. It was an area where many people in the business frequented because of the mind-your-own-business mentality of the people who lived here. He and John had a contact near by that kept things for them when they wanted to stash something important, and they generally did when their stays were long.

Gibbs ushered Dean into the cottage behind Ziva and Franks. He didn't stop in the front living area but continued to steer Dean toward the small kitchen where he sat him down at the table. Dean didn't know what to make of the man who was apparently his biological father. He watched him as he placed his gun on the table and walked over to the counter. He grabbed a bowl from one of the cupboards and filled it from a jug of distilled water sitting on the counter.

Gibbs returned to the table with the bowl and a dish towel as Ziva joined them holding a first aid kit. Dean looked at both of them and his ire instantly rose. He didn't need or want them caring for him. He'd been taking care of himself for a long time - health, injuries and all. The only time he'd ever needed any assistance was when John thought it warranted it and even then John only assisted when he considered it a teaching opportunity. The ex-Marine had been a big believer in making sure Dean was as self-reliant as possible. So now, watching those two with concerned eyes and intent to help…well, it seemed like a betrayal to his adopted father and everything he had taught him.

* * *

Ziva placed the kit on the table, looked at the boy before her and felt an anger build inside that could only be rivaled by what she knew Gibbs must feel. The left side of his face was dark blue, black and swollen from repeated impacts next to his eye and across his temple. The frayed edge of a bandage peeked out from his collar and faint traces of blood could be seen seeping through the plaid of his shirt. His wrists were rubbed raw below the rolled up cuffs and even though he seemed to hold himself together very well, Ziva could tell that the stillness of his body was one to avoid additional pain and the slight tremble in the hand that held the gun was a sign that he was just managing to hold things together and fighting the aftereffects of exhaustion and what could possibly be shock.

What stood out the most though were his eyes. She could see the pain and loss there. See the loss of innocence that one as young as he should not have had to have experience yet a look that was all too familiar to her of the boys she'd known in Tel Aviv. Too much for one so young in any circumstance.

She turned to Gibbs whose eyes were unwavering on the boy facing him - seeing what she saw - and took in his own appearance. Unshaven and closed off with an edge to him that, if she didn't know him, she wouldn't have been able to read. She hadn't seen the video that Paloma had sent but when he'd met her at the airport she'd come face to face with someone that could make any enemy cringe. If he hadn't been so focused on getting Dean out she was certain that no one in the small compound where Paloma dwelled would have been left alive.

"Mike said we have thirty minutes." With a glance from him she turned and left them alone.

"Here," Gibbs pulled out cell phone and held it towards Dean. "Call your family. Let them know you're coming home."

Dean stared at the phone a second then looked down at the gun he held in his shaking hand, focusing on it, tightening his grip and finding comfort in the solidity of it. The cell hung between them a few more seconds before Gibbs tucked the phone back into his pocket with a sigh. He stayed quiet waiting for Dean to say something if he wanted. He didn't have to wait long.

"My mom died when I was just a little kid. The old man," Dean glanced up at Gibbs. "My uncle adopted me after she died. Found him at the house we were staying at. I don't know that he ever saw it coming or their bodies would have been littering the ground and it would have been him gettin' me out." Dean started flicking the safety on and off and Gibbs placed his hand over his.

"I'm sorry."

Dean looked back up at Gibbs noting the furrowed brow, the sorrow and a flicker of guilt in his eyes. He didn't know if he wanted to hear those words, to see that look in someone else's eyes, especially since deep down he blamed himself.

"For what?" the man didn't know Dean, so the kid didn't want to think about how it could be anyone's fault but his own. "If I'd kept my mouth shut she wouldn't have known I was even related to ya."

"It's not your fault, Dean. None of this is."

Dean looked at the genuine sincerity in Gibbs eyes. The man cared and Dean wasn't sure he could deal with that. He would rather be angry. Should probably be angry at the man sitting before him, but he was too hurt – too_ angry_ _at himself_ for slipping up.

Gibbs pushed the bowl of water and towel towards Dean, apparently sensing that the teen needed some distraction from his own thoughts. Instead, Dean simply looked at the items and started rubbing the barrel of the gun treating it like a security blanket. No matter what the kid may think of him in the end, he wasn't about to let the boy think that his actions were the cause of what happened.

"Back when I was serving during Desert Storm, my wife Shannon witnessed Paloma's father murder someone. To keep her quite he…."

"Killed her and your daughter and so you killed him." Dean let out a huff at quirk of fate the situation had shown him. John and Jethro. Two men whose lives were set on a path by the death of loved ones yet ending up on two different sides of the law. "Figured it out not long after Paloma told me why you weren't on her Christmas list. Would have figured it out sooner but with all the cutting and escaping…"

Gibbs clenched his fists at the reminder and Dean saw it and felt a kind of bad at sharing his own brand of coping humor.

"You knew about me?" Gibbs didn't know how he felt about the fact that the kid had known about him yet hadn't made contact.

"Yeah. Uncle John thought I should know," Dean glance up then back at the gun in his hands. His mouth opened like he was going to add to that then he seemed to reconsider. "Ya know, you're not as different from the old man as I thought you would be," he continued. The similarities didn't make it hard for Dean to revert to type and reestablish a caretaking mentality. It was easier to think about someone else right now than himself.

Gibbs kept quiet. Worried that if he said anything, Dean would stop talking.

"We didn't exactly live a normal, safe life. The old man probably would have gotten himself killed sooner if I hadn't been there to watch his back." Dean let loose a short humorless laugh then furrowed his brow as the grief threatened to overwhelm him again. He took a deep breath and pushed those feeling down. Their line of work, he thought, it was inevitable, right? "If it wasn't this it would have been someone else that got 'im."

"Hey," he grasped Dean behind the neck in a show of comfort. The teen's initial tenseness didn't stop Gibbs from making his intent known and Dean slowly relaxed, too tired to fight. "It's going to be alright. Okay? None of this was your fault. _None of it._ You understand me?"

Dean looked up and nodded, rubbing his eyes of any tears that tried to escape as he took a deep breath.

"Let's get you taken care of."

Gibbs opened the first aid kit. "I told you I was _fine_," came the strained response to his rummaging through the kit. Gibbs looked back up into the eyes of his son, seeing the need for some semblance of control. "I mean…I'm…fine. Just…Can I be alone for a minute?"

Pushing the bowl and towel toward Dean, Gibbs sent him a determined look. "Your cuts still need to be cleaned and taken care of." Gibbs knew he had to handle this carefully. He saw what had been done to Dean and it had made his blood run cold. The helplessness and resulting anger had almost caused him to go off half cocked, but as he thought about what he needed to do he had become calculating and focus. His only objective: getting Dean out alive.

Gibbs watched as Dean stared at him; the boy struggling to get a hold of himself. Dean needed to be in control of something, anything to deal with the utter lack of it that this whole situation had created, but Gibbs couldn't bring himself to let his desire for his physical wellbeing to completely override the desire to secure Dean's emotional wellbeing.

The teen continued to meet Gibbs' eyes but the ongoing silence and the emotions he was able to perceive from the man before him was a little too much for him to handle at the moment. It was clear that Gibbs wasn't going to let this go, he could tell by the look he was giving him, a look that reminded him a little too much of John. So, sighing, and as much as it pained him to do it, he continued to treat him the way he would have treated his old man: he compromised.

"I'll take care of it. I just…" Dean glanced down at the gun he held in his shaking hand and placed it on the table. He clenched his fist in his lap then looked back up at Gibbs. "I just need a minute."

Gibbs didn't want to leave him alone, especially now. Dean had returned his eyes to his clenched fists and older man could feel it in his gut that to leave him alone would be bad, but at the same time he didn't want to push his luck with the kid so he was going to take what he could get, so Gibbs stood and placed a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Ten minutes, okay?" he said in a soothing voice.

Dean gave a slight nod in reply and Gibbs walked out the kitchen. As soon as he felt Gibbs was out of ear shot, Dean quietly picked up the gun and carefully stood. He had to grab the back of the chair as a dizzy spell struck him, it had barely passed by the time he was moving towards the back door. Carefully disengaging the lock on the doorknob Dean slowly opened the door, thankful for the surprisingly well oiled hinges, and made his way outside.

He felt bad for leaving after everything Gibbs and his friends had to risk getting him out but there was something he had to take care of and he had to do it alone. He just hoped Gibbs wouldn't be too pissed when he discovered he was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Sorry this is so late but I wasn't happy with how I'd originally had this last chapter and got stuck on how I could end it so that it made sense and, considering the changes I made to previous chapters, I just didn't want to leave any loose ends. I hope it stands up to muster and thanks for joining me on this ride. It's been fun! :)**

CHAPTER 8

Salazar Reynosa rode up the darkened drive of the small compound his wife had been using to hold the son of the man who had killed her father. There were an extra ten well armed men on sight, scattered about as more took care to load the bodies of the dead onto the back of a truck. The only light coming from a few scattered vehicles and a couple spotlights mounted to the roof of the house they approached. His driver pulled to a stop at the foot of the porch steps and Reynosa got out to find Paloma standing at the top, hand on the railing.

"Salazar."

"Paloma, you told me that there wouldn't be a problem. You told me that he would come and that this would all be taken care of." Salazar glances and gestures around them before returning his focus to his wife.

"Mi esposo…"

"No. I let you pursue this because you gave me no choice. It was a family matter and I understand that, but your plan was short-sighted and to get this man here has left me without a weapon specialist and now…I have eight dead men. And the boy and his father have gotten away."

"I will _get_ the cabrón before he can get out of the country, esposo," Paloma declared.

_"It is too late for that!"_ Salazar paced a step before swinging back on his wife. "You used our contacts to send a _vídeo _of yourself cutting into a teenage boy to an American federal agent. A boy who is also the _hijo_ of that same agent."

"Salazar, I can fix this," Paloma entreated.

"No, esposa," he replied. Salazar brought his hands up and held his wife's face. He brought it forward to kiss her on the forehead then look into her eyes. "You will do nothing. Su venganza será mejor servido cuando no la ven venir. ¿Comprende? Until then you will lay low."

"Salazar-" Reynosa gripped her tighter to forestall any argument and Paloma pursed her lips as she understood that she was on the verge of crossing a line with the head of the Cartel. Wife or not, Salazar had no plans on risking his organization. The fact that this man Gibbs had breached one of his compounds and killed his men was a slap in the face to the Cartel.

"You should have talked to me about this before you made your move, esposa. You knew we had a major shipment going out and we can not afford to attract the attention of the American authorities. Our contact in Bell's organization says it is fortunate that it appears that he came down here in an unofficial capacity so our shipment may be safe, but an example still has to be made for this failure if we are to save face."

Paloma knew where this was going and she didn't like it. For the first time she felt fear of her husband and what he may do. He detested failure and she never thought she would fail.

"What do you plan on doing?"

"People need to understand that everyone must suffer the consequences for their actions. Even you."

Reynosa released his wife and indicated to two of his men to come forward. "Diego, take her to la hacienda. Manuel, go get Señora Hernandez. Take her foot."

_"¿Qué?"_ Paloma started forward but was stopped by Diego. She tried to shake his grip but he only tightened his grip. "Mi madre is an old woman, Salazar!_ Familia!_"

"And because of that, I will have a doctor remove it instead of having one of the men saw it off. Be happy it is just one foot."

With that, Salazar returned to his car and Paloma watched him drive away as she herself was taken to another car. Anger filled her in a way it hadn't since she found out about the death of her father. She may not be able to do anything to help her mother, but she wouldn't let this slight go. Salazar was right, she had been short-sighted and didn't think of the consequences should she fail because failure never entered her mind. She should not have acted as quickly as she did. Needless to say it would not happen again. She needed to plan. Come up with a way to ensure Gibbs paid for the death of her father and Salazar for the slight against her mother.

Fortunate for Gibbs that her plans for him would have to wait. Before she could enact her revenge on him, she needed to take over the Reynosa Cartel.

#######

His destination was less than a mile away but he'd wandered the area often enough on previous visits that he knew the quickest route to get there and he took it. He figured he had a five minute head start if he were lucky so he pushed himself hard and kept his eyes focused on the ground to minimize any dizzy spells.

Dean arrived at his destination ten minutes later and knocked on the door to a small house.

Señora Anita Medina was an older woman of slight build, a mother of two children of her own that had moved on and had families of their own. John had met her a few years ago when he'd started selling guns and pulled her son out of a situation that the kid just hadn't been prepared for. He'd also helped her out once and established a kind of trust. To repay the debt, she had offered to provide a place for them to stay whenever they were in the area. It hadn't been much, but John knew that to her it was a big deal because to invite him in to her home was to invite trouble and the Señora knew this but she took them in anyway. John hadn't wanted to risk that so he'd compromised.

Opening the door, Anita took one startled look at Dean then ushered him in. She clearly didn't need to ask to know that something had happened to John and took the boy she'd come to consider like a grandson into her arms. His tight hug merely confirming her suspicions that John was gone.

"It is okay, nieto," she said in a thick Mexican accent. She ran a hand up and down his back. "It is okay."

Dean held on tight, ignoring the twinge in his ribs, letting the events of the past few days wash over him for just a moment before forcing everything down, locking away all those emotions to deal with at another time. He took a step back and wiped at his eyes before looking down at the closest thing he'd ever had to a grandmother. He wished he could stay but knew this would be the last time he would see her and knew that she knew the same.

"I need our stuff, Señora," Dean sniffed and cleared his throat.

"I told you all the time, nieto. It is okay to call me 'abuela.'" Dean tried to smile and she patted his arm returning his smile with a sad one of her own. He followed Anita to a back room where she went to the closet to retrieve a handcrafted wood box which she turned and offered to Dean. She turned back to the closet and picked up a satchel that her son had left behind, empting it of its contents and offering it to Dean as well. He gratefully took it and secured the contents of the box into it before placing the strap of the satchel over his head.

"Stay the night, nieto," the old woman urged. "Rest for a little while."

"Can't," Dean replied regretfully. "People are looking for me. Some bad, some good, but mostly bad."

"Alright, nieto," she replied, voice soothing and patted his arm, "but at least let me give you a little something to eat. For de road?"

Dean smiled, it came easier this time, and followed her to her pantry where she wrapped up some bread and fruit then went to her stove where she then wrapped up an empanada for him.

"Gracias, abuela."

Anita walked him to the door and gave him one last hug. "Take care, nieto."

"I will." Dean stepped out and waited till she'd locked the door before stepping away. He wasn't surprised when he detected movement to his right and turned to find Gibbs leaning against the wall.

"That wasn't smart," he said, the disapproval clear but not as harsh as Dean would have thought it should have been.

"I needed to get something." He made no attempt to explain himself to Gibbs and prepared himself for a dressing down. And if Gibbs was anything like his old man it'd be a severe one.

"You could have asked."

"You could have said no."

"I could have said yes to." Gibbs nodded then walked toward a waiting car, indicating Dean should follow with a wave of his hand.

Dean watched Gibbs as he walked past him with a bewildered look on his face. He made no move to follow, confusion overriding a righteous indignation that no longer seemed to have a target.

"Well, come on. We got a plane to catch." Gibbs glanced back and noted the look on his son's face. He figured the kid had expected to be reprimanded and, truth be told, if Gibbs hadn't witnessed the scene in the house he probably would have shown more displeasure at his decision.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Dean followed, not knowing what to think of the man who'd rescued him.

"I don't have a passport," Dean said as Gibbs held open the door for him to get in. His only response a quirk of the brow, a nonverbal question asking how he could have crossed the boarder in the first place.

"We didn't exactly run in legitimate circles."

"Don't worry about it, kid," he replied sliding into the back seat next to Dean and shutting the door.

Dean looked to the front as Mike pulled onto the road and headed out. He wondered at these people that had come and rescued him. Wondered why they had done it and the kind of person Gibbs had to be to garner the loyalty that this undertaking had required.

Most of all, Dean wondered what _his_ place would be in this man's life.

Glancing at Dean, Gibbs was wondering the same thing. They had a long road ahead of them but he was determined to make sure he traveled it with Dean no matter what.

End?

**Well, that's it for now folks, but don't worry, I plan on writing at least one more part to this story, but it won't be for a bit. Too much real life interference right now. So thank you so much for reading!**

_Mi esposo_ – My husband

_Cabrón_ – bastard

_Hijo_ – son

_Esposa_ – wife

_Su venganza será mejor servido cuando no la ven venir. ¿Comprende?_ - Your revenge will be better served when he doesn't see it coming. Understand?

_¿Qué? – _What?

_Mi madre_ – My mother

_Familia_ – Family

_Nieto_ – Grandson

_Abuela_ – Grandmother

_Gracias_ – Thank you

_La hacienda_ – The ranch


End file.
